Unexpectedly turned into a cat, Kat falls into Middle-earth with the mission to prevent a death. In a feline form she can only communicate with the elf Legolas - and that he is such an attractive specimen is certainly not helpful...
A humorous (but...
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"YOU FEAR TO DIE? "It's not that I don't want... I mean, I've always... it's just that life is a habit that's hard to break..."
― Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man
19. Kingsfoil
Boromir pulled his sword free of the dead orc and fell on his knees, carefully turning the golden-haired warrior over.
Kat let out an involuntary meow. No! Why was Nellas here?
"How could you be so stupid?" Boromir scolded, his voice distorted. "Why did you not listen to Haldir? This is no place for women." He seemed to have temporarily forgotten Nellas only spoke Sindarin.
She was smiling, her usual dreamy, almost serene smile. It looked odd on her blood-stained face.
Hello Kat, she thought. I saved Boromir. Last time I merely watched, and therefore Túrin was banished, and then he died. This time I did not just watch. I shall die in peace now.
No. No! You will not die. I won't allow it.
Nellas only kept smiling. Her blonde tresses were striped with blood; the orc who punched her must have struck hard enough to break her skin.
Boromir carefully cut away the top of her clothes, exposing the wound where the orc arrow had pierced her shoulder near the armpit.
A strong stench hit Kat's nostrils, making her not a little nauseous. Excrement. But also something chemical and tangy. So this was how orcs poisoned their arrows! The germs alone would make them deadly in a world where antibiotics were not invented, and in addition there was this unknown component.
Realizing the same thing, Boromir pounded his fist on the ground, hard. "Damned be that son-of-a-donkey orc and his accursed arrow! She cannot survive this."
No! Nellas would not die. They would clean the wound with an antiseptic – there had to be something. If only she could speak with Boromir and tell him to fetch some alcohol. Or salt. Or iodine? The problem was, Kat had no idea where to find them, except for in a pharmacy, and there would not be any around for centuries. What good did it do to come from the future when none of your knowledge was helpful anyway?
A branch cracked nearby, and the fallen leaves on the ground rustled with the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Boromir snapped to attention, drawing his sword.
Kat peered anxiously at the underbrush, but then she caught a whiff of a familiar scent and breathed out in relief. Aragorn!
When he emerged, Boromir too relaxed his stance and sadly indicated the fallen elf. "Why did she have to come? So brave and stupid."
Aragorn hurried forward, taking great strides over the many orc corpses until he could kneel beside Nellas. "The wound is poisoned," he said needlessly. "But I will see what I can do." Reaching for the pouch in his belt, he took out a fragrant leaf which Kat recognized. "I need boiling water for this, Boromir," he ordered.
